Black Phoenix
by Sheo Darren
Summary: "Once upon a time," began a blood sport fairy tale, "There were twins siblings, a boy and a girl. Their names were Hansel and Gretel…"
1. from the ashes

__It hurts.__

_My body hurts. My right knee hurts. My left elbow hurts. _The stumps dribble red. _They had burned; now they felt like icy metal._

__I'm hurting. ___It feels like I'm dy-_

_No. I'm not dying. It's painful, it hurts, but I'm not dying._

_"If you were thinking rationally, you would have noticed that you were being led into a trap."_

__The old hag is as cold and hard as the stony pavement__. _____She loves listening to herself talk, probably because her voice is prettier than her fried face, if only by a little._

_"But here you are, a helpless, injured little brat who only came here to die."_

_Hehe. Heheheh. That's funny. It hurts to laugh, but I do so anyway._

_What are you babbling about, you senile old hag? I'm not going to die... **I'm not going to die.**_

_We've killed so many people. Many, many, **many, many** people. Just so we could go on living. Just to prolong our lives. We'll never die. You hear me? **Never die!**_

_"Is that what you believe? What an interesting philosophy. However, the situation is just like in that song. 'No one lives forever.'"_

_That's a lie. That song is a lie. Of course people can live forever. They just have to keep killing forever. Like us. Like Sister and myself._

_"And now I shall terminate you with extreme prejudice. By now you should realize that my subordinates are far more important to me than simply serving as mere bait. Unfortunately for you, I am not as nekulturniy as you. I have no taste for the macabre, and I am not one to lose control. My only objective is to watch you die."_

_You can't do that. _You can't just sit there and watch me die because I'm **not** going to die. You're wrong and I'll prove you wrong.__

_"With those wounds, you have about ten minutes left to live. I suggest you spend your last few moments on Earth praying for Sakharov and Menshov to rest in peace."_

_No. No, no, no, no. Ten minutes to live? That's a lie. You're lying. You don't know what you're talking about._

_"You... You don't even understand, do you?"_

_You're the one who doesn't understand! How many times do I have to tell you! I'm not going to die! **I don't want to die!**_

_"No use crying now, you fool."_

_I don't want to die... I want to live..._

_Sister..._

.

The first thing the girl did upon coming awake was gasping for air as if she had been drowning. The second thing was to fumble around her in search for an absent warmth and expected presence.

_Brother?_

The room lacked windows and light. Yet she could see well enough for the purpose of surveying her immediate surroundings.

She reclined upon an uncomfortable bunk bed that was barely big enough to hold her tiny body. White walls boxed her in from all sides. Cold air issued from vents in the walls and ceiling. The lone fluorescent light bulb was unlit and possibly burnt out.

_Who is Sister?_

She sought her hair. Her fingers ran into a thick mass of hair that was at least as long as her arm.

_I'm Sister._

_Where is Brother?_

She sat up. Stretched her limbs and arched her back to get rid of the kinks sunk deep in her joints and muscles.

The girl sighed.

_Brother._

Sharp clicks brought her out of reverie. The wall opposite her bed. She spotted the outline of a door that swung open.

Hot air and blinding light invaded her cramped world. The girl winced, her eyes taking a moment to adapt to the brightness.

"O-ha-yo-u!"

Through the white tear in the fabric of her reality strode the dark form of a woman.

The girl's vision adjusted, granting her a better look at the intruder. Her visitor wore tight-fitting clothing that bared an impressive amount of arms, belly and thighs. Any other woman it would have been aptly described as 'slutty'. On her it appeared... appropriate, though far from modest.

"That's 'Good morning' in Japanese," the woman explained. She spoke in Romanian, the girl's native language.

_So she's Japanese?_ The girl decided to return the smile and the "Good morning." She added a "Who are you?"

"Atashi wa Dios Masakari desu. I'm Masakari Dios," was the helpful translation. "Dios is my surname. Masakari's my first name. You can call me Ma-chan, Masa-chan, Kari-chan, Masakari, and you crazy bitch."

The last title made the girl blink.

The crazy bitch continued to smile. "Miss Masakari will do, too," she continued. "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Same here, Miss Masakari," the girl politely replied. "I'm–"

_Who am I?_

_I am sister._

_What is my name?_

_I... I cannot remember._

"Jessica."

The puzzled girl looked to Masakari for an explanation.

"Jessica will be your name," the woman explained. "Jess for short."

"That's a nice name," the girl had to admit.

"I know," Masakari relished. "I got it from an old friend of mine. It's the name of his little sister. It means 'to behold'."

_It's not my name,_ the girl thought aloud.

"Of course it isn't."

Deception, it appeared, was the name of their little game. The girl studied Masakari. Jet black hair cut boyishly short. Pupils like glass-green discs, beautiful but hard. An impish grin.

The sweet scent of a slaughterhouse. The miasma of spilling blood. The reek of butchered meat. Human blood; human meat.

_She is a killer,_ the girl realized. _Just like me._

"Now, I've got something for you, Jess-chan…"

Masakari could have fitted 'Jessica' inside the voluminous bag. The stink that issued from the open zipper was familiar. Hard. Sharp. Metallic.

Gun oil.

_She is giving me a gun?_

"Mitsuketta!" Masakari crowed as she revealed her prize.

The girl stared at a battle ax.

The weapon was steel from eye to knob, wicked deadly steel. Its sharp bit– the aptly-named business edge of the tool– was broad-faced and thin, the better to lop off arms and hack into spines. It looked nothing like the woodcutting implements borne by heroic woodsmen in fairy tales, and in fact would be far more fitting in the hand of a bloodthirsty Viking raider pillaging a typical medieval fantasy village.

The ax called to her. Its edge gleamed bright, a metal smile of greeting.

_It's mine._

Masakari proffered the haft of the ax to her stunned audience. Despite gripping the weighty weapon with just one hand, her youthful face showed not a hint of physical strain. "Here you go," she tempted.

Despite the urge of woman and weapon, the girl hesitated.

_The ax is for Brother. I'm Sister._

"Is this truly mine?" she finally asked.

"Zenzen. Absolutely. It's certainly not **mine**," Masakari assured her. "I like knives more." Her free hand twisted at mid-wrist to materialize a fine example pinched between thumb and forefinger. "They're much lighter. Plus, I'm stabby-happy, not choppy-suey."

The girl stared at the hilt-less knife. _Like how a stage magician does it. But,_ she though as her gaze roved across Masakari's bare arms, _she doesn't have sleeves. How did she do it?_

Masakari's next flippant gesture dismissed the knife from sight. She appeared to be very pleased with her little parlor trick. "Dou? Well?"

_Hold it for Brother._

The girl accepted the weapon with both hands to give off the impression of physical weakness. Its lightness surprised her.

_So light._ **_Too _**_light._

_Am I strong? Have I gotten stronger?_

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Dozo. I've got one more thing for you." Again Masakari rummaged through the bag.

The girl considered the busy back and the proffered image of vulnerability.

The bag was big but not cavernous. Masakari was prolonging her search. She was pretending; she was up to something.

_She is a killer. She knows I am a killer._

_She will try to kill me._

_Kill or be killed._

_Kill her first._

The girl clenched the handle of the ax.

_The ax is for_ _Brother_, she reminded herself._ I'm Sister._

_I need to become Brother._

She grasped at her fake hair, at the wig crowning her scalp, took a handful of the silver strands–

The girl froze.

_It's not coming off?_

Again she tugged at her hair. Again it resisted.

_It won't come off… it won't come off…_

She braced herself, winced.

_It _**_hurts_**_…_

_I _**_have _**_to be Brother! I have to **kill** her!_

Desperate and furious, she set her jaw tight, teeth clenched, before yanking at the thick tuft of hair with all her strength.

Her scalp stung. Fighting down a vanguard of tears, she glanced at her prize.

Ocher stained one end of the soft bundle in her hand. The silver strands were easily as long as her arm.

_My hair… it's _**_stuck_**_…_

_I can't become Brother._

The girl whimpered.

Nearby, Masakari remained busy with her bag.

_She is pretending. Why?_

_She is waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me?_

_She wants me to kill her?_

_She will kill me._

_I must kill her first._

_But!_

Her gaze fell again upon the ax.

_I can't use this. This is for Brother. I'm Sister._

_I cannot become Brother._

_But I **am** Brother__._

_No, I'm not. My hair–_

–_is not a wig._

_I'm Sister._

_I'm Brother._

_I… who am I?_

_This is her fault. She has to die._

The leaden weights of her arms rose slowly. Shaking all the while, she lifted the ax, held it over Masakari's head, a desperate executor.

_Kill her. Kill her. Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill–_

"Yatta!"

The girl stared into the black maw of the light machine gun now slanted upon Masakari's shoulder. She knew the weapon to be a Browning Automatic Rifle.

_It looks like mine._

A plushy fob dangled from the BAR's muzzle. The dolly wore a pink dress and an innocent expression.

_It **is** mine._**_  
_**

_No. It's for Sister._

Masakari looked over her shoulder, over the BAR, and smiled at the girl poised to cleave her skull in twain. "So," she posed, "Which one is yours?"

_That's mine._

_But the gun goes to Sister._

_I'm Sister._

_But the ax is mine._

_The ax is for Brother._

_But I'm not Brother._

_My hair is stuck. I can't be Brother._

_Brother is gone?_

_I'm alone?_

The battle ax clattered upon the floor.

The girl bawled loudly. Her tears were cold. She clutched at her face, clawed at skin that refused the bite of her fingernails.

Hands and arms drew her into a soft warmth. Gentle breath soothed her aching scalp.

"It will be all right," Masakari promised softly. "It will be all right."

_Warm… she is warm…_

_She smells like blood. Like a rotten body slumped within the ditch of an abandoned alleyway._

_But I like that smell. I smell like that. Brother smells like that._

_She is not Brother. But she is **like** Brother._

_I am not alone._

"Thank you," sniffled the girl.

.

Later, after her wounded scalp had been tended to with antiseptic and motherly kisses, she asked, "Who am I, Masakari?"

"Whoever you want to be."

"But I want to remember who I am," she whined. "I need to know who I am."

The dazzling smile bestowed upon her was truly honest in its conveyed warmth. Masakari's gaze seemed distant, as if she saw something, someone else, in her forlorn face.

"Once upon a time, there were twins siblings, a boy and a girl. Their names were Hansel and Gretel…"

.

* * *

.

**BLACK PHOENIX**

.

**disclaimer**

Sheo Darren does not own Gunslinger Girl or Black Lagoon

.

**chapter one**

_from the ashes  
_

* * *

.

"Hi, readers! It's me, Masakari Dios! I'm deeply delighted to get the chance to chat with you at last, especially since Sheo took years and years to finally post this story, which is supposed to be part of his dormant Life Goes On fan continuity. Sheo no baka..." Masakari quickly dropped her pout and resumed her characteristic Stepford smile. "But I'm not angry since I finally get to make my debut!

"Anyway, I'm supposed to let you know that Sheo Darren doesn't own Gunslinger Girl and Black Lagoon. He does own me, though, since I'm his original character.

"Now you know, and like the Amerika-jin say, knowing is half the battle. The other half is the part we love the most!"

Masakari beamed. "Right, Jess-chan?" she asked her companion.

Mirroring her boisterous grin was Unit Zero Two of Project Child, the third Amalgam Plan 2007 cyborg wrought by the Black Technology of the accursed Whispered, an eleven year old girl in a mechanical body.

Her hair had been messily trimmed into a boyish length. The ax used for the impromptu haircut dangled expectantly from her right hand. Her other hand wielded the BAR by its pistol grip with absurd ease.

"Da, sora mai mare Masakari," giggled Jessica Dios.

_Yes, big sister Masakari._

.

**To Be Continued**


	2. the juniper tree

**Berlin, Germany**

"Guten Abend, Herr Lange, Herr Klein," the portly gray-haired matron greeted the two men standing guard at the entrance of the posh penthouse.

"Guten Abend, Frau Steinar," replied the smaller, senior man. "You came earlier than we expected."

"Herr Pfeiffer asked for a fresh new lamb. And here he is."

Steinar planted her gnarled hands upon the shoulders of a thirteen year old boy. She pushed him forward none-too-gently for the guards' inspection.

The child had milky white skin and silvery hair. He dared not meet the guards' gaze. Instead he stared at his own shoes. His shy demeanor accentuated the doll-like delicacy of his appearance.

"This is Ion," Steinar grumped. "Greet the nice men, Ion."

"B-b-buna se-seara..."

"It's 'Guten Abend', you Romani brat." Steinar lightly rapped the boy on his head.

"G-gute Nacht," the tearful Ion squeaked.

Lange raised his bushy eyebrows. It was not every day that one saw an albino. "Where'd you find him?" he asked Steinar.

"Where else? Romania, of course," she clarified. "My friends there are very reliable."

That got Klein to bark in amusement. "Those inbred fuckers put rabbits to shame. They'll never run out of orphans," he agreed.

Lange rolled his eyes at his companion's coarseness. "You can go in, Frau Steinar," he said with a wave of his hand that declared _Alles in ordnung_, 'all is in order'.

"Thanks, Herr Lange," Steinar bit out.

"Herr Pfeiffer's gonna love him," Klein said as he opened the door for the pimp and her prize.

.

Joachim Pfeiffer was indeed appreciative of Steinar's gift. Clad in just a terry bathrobe, the stern man did not take his hawk-like gaze off the fidgeting Ion since the boy and his handler stepped into his bedroom.

After exchanging the usual greetings with Steinar, Pfeiffer reached for Ion's chin. The boy flinched as his face was propped up for examination. His fearful eyes were like amethyst marbles and dripped salty tears.

"He will do," Pfeiffer judged with the eye of a connoisseur. "You have my thanks, Frau Steinar."

"Send your regards to my account, Herr Pfeiffer. I'll fetch Ion in a week's time." Steinar glared at Ion. "You behave yourself now, boy. You hear me?"

"D-d-da, Do-Doamnă Steinar."

"It's 'Ja, Frau Steinar'," she scowled. "Honestly, children nowadays have no respect for your elders."

The door had barely closed behind the grumbling Steinar when Pfeiffer placed his hands upon Ion's cheeks. "Don't worry," the older man coaxed his newest plaything. "You will love this."

"I'm not worried."

Pfeiffer's eyes went wide. Ion's lavender pupils were suddenly hard and piercing. The boy's pale pink lips had peeled back to reveal pearly white teeth.

"I do love this."

And Ion drove his foot in between the astonished Pfeiffer's legs.

.

**BLACK PHOENIX**

_._

**disclaimer**

Sheo Darren does not own Gunslinger Girl and Black Lagoon.

_._

**chapter two  
**

_the juniper tree_

.

Outside, Klein and Lange were just biding the irascible Steinar a "Guten Abend" when a blood-curdling scream came from the direction of the master bedroom.

Klein winced. "Already? The boss usually takes time to savor his toys."

"That doesn't sound like the kid," Lange hissed while drawing his pistol out of his shoulder holster. "That was Pfeiffer."

"What? Steinar, what the fuck is going on?" Klein demanded of the old hag.

Steinar's answering smile flashed bright and blinding like the light reflecting off the knives that her pudgy hands plunged through the gaps between their third and fourth ribs.

.

Pfeiffer writhed across the carpeted floor of his bedroom. "You little prick," he wheezed while clasping his shattered nuts.

Ion smiled at him. It was the exact same smile Steinar had flashed the guards outside.

"Isn't that you?" the boy asked while pointing to Pfeiffer's exposed groin.

"I'll kill you," Pfeiffer promised through gritted teeth. "You and that whore Steinar... I'll kill you!"

Ion's smile grew even wider. His eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light. His tone remained sunny, which made his next words all the more chilling.

"Sora mea Masakari is not a whore," he mewled.

Pfeiffer kept his mouth shut. The more time this psychopath took to finish him off, the more time he could recover. Although: 'Who the fuck is 'Sora mea Masakari'?'

"She is a crazy bitch."

Ion abruptly turned his back on Pfeiffer. The boy took dainty steps towards the lone chair in the bedroom.

Baffled by the unexpected reprieve but relieved for the distraction, Pfeiffer started a desperate crawl for his bedside, where he'd hidden a pistol for this exact kind of crisis.

"My mother has butchered me."

Pfeiffer froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He dared to look over his left shoulder.

"My father is devouring me," Ion sang to the patter-patter accompaniment of his feet flitting across the thick red carpet.

The paralyzed Pfeiffer recognized the song. It was part of an old German folktale called The Juniper Tree. It told the story of a strange but innocent boy, blood-red and snow-white, who was murdered by a hateful stepmother, cannibalized by his unwitting father, and brought back to life by his faithful sister to wreak bloody revenge.

Pfeiffer loathed that story. His bitch of a mother used to scare him with it to put him to sleep. It achieved the exact opposite. He never was able to sleep soundly after hearing it.

"My brothers and sisters huddle under the table, gathering up my bones."

'That's wrong,' was the increasingly irrational Pfeiffer's disjointed thoughts. 'The boy in the folktale only had one sister. Her name was Marlene.'

Ion rested his hands upon the backrest of the chair. "They will bury them under the cold," he murmured.

CRACK!

His small hands gripped two lengthy chunks of wood, which he'd effortlessly wrenched out of the now-wrecked backrest. He grinned at the horrified Pfeiffer, the latter only now realizing that he had been doomed from the beginning, that the pistol would not avail him against this monster wearing the guise of a boy.

"You're a mechanical body-"

.

**My mother, she killed me**

**My father, he ate me**

**My sister Marlene**

**Gathered all my bones**

**Tied them in a silken scarf**

**Laid them beneath the juniper tree**

**Tweet, tweet**

**What a beautiful bird am I**

.

'Steinar' was waiting in the living room. The previously grumpy grandmother lounged upon the sofa like a lioness. A huge man-eater smile, all canine fangs, hung from her flabby jowls.

"How was it, Jess-chan?" she asked the blood-drenched 'Ion' who'd only now emerged from the finally silent master bedroom.

"Pfeiffer wanted me to play his fife," Jess chirped. "But it was too tiny to be useful, so I beat him like a drum instead."

'Steinar' brought her right hand as demure cover for her mischievous smile. "Ara, ara," she giggled. "He can't please even a little girl, so he turns to little boys..."

"How about you, Masakari sora mare? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yup!" She gestured to what appeared to be a normal section of wall. "Did you know that there's a door in that wall? It leads to a restroom!"

"Why would they hide the restroom?" Jess wondered. "What if someone needed to go in a hurry?"

"Wakaranai." After shrugging her shoulders, which she'd padded to assume the guise of Madame Pfeiffer, Masakari grinned anew. "But the restroom could fit both Lange-kun and Klein-kun at the same time, so it gets an eight out of ten in my book!"

To her surprise, Jess pouted. "Sora mai mare!" the girl scolded her senior. "I was going to use that restroom!"

"Eh? You have to go now?"

Jess blushed. "No! I was just going to wash up first before we left."

"Gomen, gomen. But what's wrong with the one in the master bedroom?" Masakari wondered. "Why didn't you use that one?"

"It works, but then I have to cross Lake Pfeiffer to get to it," Jess muttered.

"Lake Pfeiffer?" The older assassin waddled over to the still-open door of the bedroom and peered inside. "Ara... ara, ara," she murmured thoughtfully. "Just like Latveria..."

Jess stiffened. She didn't like to think of their stint in La- in That Country. It had been… messy, even for the likes of them.

"It's Latvia, sora Masakari," she softly corrected.

"Same thing." Masakari looked over her shoulder. "Did he make you really angry?"

"...Just a little," Jess reluctantly admitted. "He called you a whore."

Then she let out a squeak of surprise as Masakari drew her into an unexpected hug.

"Ah! Sora mai mare Masakari! You'll get blood all over your disguise!"

"It's okay to be angry, Gretel."

She went still. Her old name. It retained power over her. Even after she had died and been reborn as Jessica Dios.

"Smiling is still the best. I learned that from Okaa-san, who learned it from Obaa-san, and so on. But it's also okay to get angry," Masakari averred. "Because otherwise it will rip you apart from the inside. So if it feels too much for you, just let it all out."

Jess let herself sag into her adoptive sister. "I still don't like it," she mumbled. "It feels... it feels awful..."

She could only remember one time that she'd gotten angry. And it was-

.

_**I'm not going to die.**_

_**Never die!**_

_**I don't want to die!**_

.

"But that's what bad things are for," Masakari promised the shivering girl in her arms. "To make the good things better."

Jess thought back to the past, her past. The orphanage. The snuff films. The wild life on the run as a gunslinger girl &amp; axe boy. And now this second chance. Not survival. Living.

"Sora Masakari? Did you ever get angry?"

The embrace tightened. "...Just once," Masakari confessed.

"Can you tell me?"

"It's a long story."

"Please?" Jess begged.

"...all right, but we'll wash up first."

"Thank you…"

In the midst of returning Masakari's hug, something occurred to Jess.

"Sora Masakari? Why do you like to tell stories **while** we bathe instead of **after**?"

Masakari grinned. "Fan service, my dear Jess," she revealed. "Fan service."

.

Later, still in the penthouse...

"There was a boy. I met him long ago. His name was Aldo Talon. He thought I killed his parents, so he tried to kill me."

The sopping wet murderess smiled fondly at the raptly-listening child seated between her raised knees as they shared a companionable soak in the scented water of the jacuzzi.

"And he succeeded," Masakari smiled at Gretel.

.

**To Be Continued**


End file.
